Miley and I Grow Up in Hawaii
by Chantiix3
Summary: Longtime friends take it further with Strip Poker. ;  NILEY.. Rated R at the end..
1. Miley and I meet

Miley was nine years old when I met her. I was ten.

Although they were located on opposite sides of the country, both of our fathers were in upper management of a large American corporation (you would recognize the name). The corporation arranged it's annual planning meeting in Hawaii and booked rooms and flights for the executives who attended. Arrangements were also made for the executives to bring their family members, (at their own expense, of course, although reduced rates had been negotiated in advance). And it was accepted practice for meeting attendees to arrange for vacations before or after the meeting to stay on for a couple of weeks in the sun.

That year was the first time my dad was invited to the conference, and my first visit to Hawaii. My dad met Miley's dad at the conference and they became friends. Ever since, they had planned their vacations to match, so in a way, Miley and I "grew up together"

Our families would go to meals together several times, spend evenings playing Monopoly and Scrabble, cards, etc. Miley and I would play together on the beach, take surfboard lessons, together, etc. When I was ten, I figured she was OK for a girl, and put up with her. We had our squabbles, but after a couple of years were acting pretty much like brother and sister.

When I was fifteen, something happened that changed our relationship. Our families had driven to the North Shore of the _Big Island_ to surf the big waves. Miley and I were in the back seat of one car, chattering like kids do. Both of us were wearing our swimsuits under our regular clothes. Arriving at the beach, our parents went off to make inquiries from the 'locals' about where the best place was to surf, etc. Miley and I decided to get ready, so we both stepped out of the car and stripped down to our swimming gear. Together we moved to the back of the car to get our surfboards off of the car-rack.

It was like being hit by a thunderbolt when I rounded the car and saw her, reaching up for the surfboard. She was wearing a bikini, comprised of three small triangles of material held in place by some string. I could only stand there and stare as she was untying the cords on the surfboard.

What had happened to the little girl I had known for the past five years? The one I'd played in the sand with and splashed and teased? Where did this . . . . nymph . . . come from?

Her breasts under her bikini weren't particularly large, but they were definite! Her nondescript middle had slimmed down to almost nothing and her hips, although narrow, still they flared out from her tiny waist. And her legs! Her legs seemed to run from her the sand to her chin!

Unable to loosen board from its bindings, she turned to me to demand my help. She froze in mid sentence as she saw me staring, open mouthed, at her breasts. Suddenly embarrassed, I think she was about to tell me off, but suddenly, her jaw dropped open as she saw the bulge that was growing inside my tight, racer swimsuit. Both of us stood mesmerized, staring, for what seemed an eternity. Miley came to her senses first and grabbed two towels. One, she draped in front of her and she tossed the other to me, which I quickly wrapped around my waist.

Now that both of us were 'covered', our eyes met and we both stared at the other. As if by mutual consent, our eyes dropped to the sand.

"I'm not sure I feel like swimming today," she muttered.

"I don't think I feel up to it either," I agreed.

Each of us returned to our side of the car and put on our 'street clothes'. When our parents came back, they noticed there had been a change between us, but said nothing. Although our parents did some surfing, we simply enjoyed a picnic on the beach for the rest of the afternoon,

From that day on, Miley never wore a swimsuit in my presence. And I began to notice the pattern that she almost never wore shorts, preferring blouses and skirts or occasionally long pants. Soon, Miley stopped wearing sleeveless blouses, and generally wore long sleeve blouses. Soon, I began dressing more 'modestly'. I avoided bathing suits, and shorts. Whenever I wore a tee shirt, I always wore a regular shirt over it, often open and not tucked in.

Over the next couple of years, we continued a somewhat self-conscious but correct friendship. We never dated each other, but we often went on double dates. Frequently, when she was asked out, she would ask me to come along, making it a 'double date'. I think she took me along so I could protect her if she needed it.

At home, Miley's dad decided it was time we learned to play poker with poker chips. Shortly after we learned the basics, Miley and I realized that he almost always won. When we asked him about this, he began explaining how people gave 'signs' when playing poker. When one learns to read the signs, it ceases to be a game of chance but rather becomes a game of skill of reading body language. For example: Miley's mom would start playing with her necklace whenever she got a good hand. When my dad scratched his head, we knew he was bluffing.

One evening at dinner, our parents invited Fedor, a police lieutenant on the Hawaiian Police Department (the famous "Hawaii 50"). Fedor was a surprisingly small man, but very happy with a friendly smile. Toward the end of the evening, Miley shared with us that a boy at school was often taking hold of her arm or hand and she didn't like it. She asked Fedor what she could do to keep him from 'pawing' her without reporting him to the school officials and making lots of trouble.

Fedor showed her how to give a karate chop and told her when he grabbed her arm, to give his wrist a karate chop, as hard as she could, and then to apologize profusely explaining that it was an accident and she didn't mean to hit him so hard. Fedor guaranteed that the boy would think twice before he touched her again.

He went on to suggest that the two of us should take a 'self defense' course he taught at a local Judo academy. He carefully explained that there was a definite difference between "self defense" and Judo or Karate or any of the other standard martial arts.

Miley and I enrolled together for several months. Fedor taught that self defense tactics should _never_ be used unless absolutely necessary. "It is not a game. Don't use it unless you mean it," Fedor stressed. "And if you use self defense tactics, that means you must incapacitate the other person as quickly as possible, never giving him a chance. If he can stand up after you've attached him, you have to expect he will be stronger than you and will defeat you."

Toward the end of the course, Fedor brought in an associate who must have been the biggest man I have ever seen. This giant put on body armor and both Miley and I practiced our skills using full contact. Fedor made us repeat the exercises over and over because we weren't putting our body into it and weren't hitting hard enough. Finally, he was finally satisfied. 


	2. The Bar Fight

When Miley was seventeen (I was eighteen), Miley met the Bruser brothers: Brad and Jim at a pizza counter in a shopping mall. They were local 'delinquents' and seemed to lead an exciting life, which attracted Miley to them. She should have known better, but when they invited her to a party, she accepted without thinking. Then, as she thought about it, she became uncomfortable, so she asked me to accompany her.

Once we walked in door, there were no adults present, kids were making out all over the place and alcohol and drugs were flowing like water. We took one look and decided to leave, but were blocked by Brad Bruser and some of his friends. Brad's brother, Jim was VERY interested in Miley and wanted to dance with her. She tried to refuse, unsuccessfully and both Brusers kept insisting on a dance. I tried to intervene and Brad pushed me aside. I came back and Brad hit me squarely across the cheek and nose, causing nose to bleed. I was surprised that although I staggered, I kept on my feet. When I turned back, Brad was in a boxer's position, ready to take me on.

Blood pouring from my nose, I raised both hands saying I didn't want to fight; I just wanted to check with Miley to see if it was all right with her to stay and dance. Brad agreed and lowered his guard and stepping back, gesturing to me with a courtly bow and sweep of his hand. Miley was still struggling to get away from Jim's pawing hands. I moved toward her and as I passed Brad, I raised my foot and slammed down scraping his shin and smashing against his instep HARD. He doubled over and I rotated to bring my other knee up smashing into his face, crushing his nose. Reacting he reared backward and as he reached his full height, I brought up the heel of my hand under his chin as hard as I could.

I watched with amazement as he was actually lifted off of the floor and flew backward over the punch table, spilling the punchbowl and smashing the hors d'oeuvre table as he fell to the floor. I turned to Jim Bruser who was still holding Miley's arm, but stood with his mouth gaping at the way I had handled his brother. As my eyes met his, Miley pulled him around facing her and brought her knee up into his groin with a force I could hear across the room. Jim squealed like a pig and doubled over. Meanwhile, Miley raised both of her hands above him, clenched them together forming a double fist and smashed it down on the back of his head, just where the base of his head meats his spine. He dropped like a bag of potatoes.

I looked around and found two of the Bruser's group facing me with switchblades pointed in my direction. I crouched, molding my hands into claw like positions and circled them in front of me, pointing toward the other two. "Okay!" I croaked out through the blood that was still running down my face from my nose. "Who's next?"

The other two glanced at each other, and then moved both of their hands to the sides, allowing the switchblades to close as they backed away. Miley was at my side. Side by side, almost back to back, we moved to the door as a path opened for us. When we got to the car, she pulled a beach towel from back seat and told me to put it over my nose. She insisted on driving me to the Hospital. On the way to the hospital, she gave me a sideways glance.

"Exactly what was that bit with the claws and the 'who's next?' I was scared to death when you said that. What on earth were you thinking?"

"That, my dear, was a bluff!" I said through nasal passages that were rapid constricting from the punishment they had received. "They had knives. I figured if we showed any fear, they would cut us up."

"But . . . 'who's next?' How did you ever come up with that?" she demanded.

I smiled as best I could through all the blood and pain I was experiencing.

"Would you believe, I saw it in a Bruce Lee movie?"

Of course, we had to call our parents who came and I was treated. My nose wasn't broken, fortunately, but I ended up with two eyes that were very black and almost swollen shut. And the police were called and a statement taken. We were told not to leave Hawaii while they investigated.

A couple of days later, Fedor himself called and made an appointment to meet with Miley and me and our parents. When he knocked on our door He looked at my eyes that were just beginning to open again and whistled.

I knew Fedor was a policeman, and even though he had said this was an informal visit, I couldn't resist the usual response in this situation. "You should have seen the other guy!"

Fedor smiled. "I did," was his simple response. Then he looked back and forth between Miley and me, and we both held our breath waiting to be handcuffed and taken off to jail. Fedor had been a friend of the family and somewhat of a mentor to both Miley and me. But he was still a policeman. And I had no doubts that regardless of what friendship we had, he wouldn't hesitate to do his duty as an officer of the law.

Fedor gazed at us for what seemed a terribly long period of time. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Incredible!" Fedor said. Miley and I exchanged glances. "Absolutely incredible!" he repeated.

I was aware of both of our parents squirming as they waited for whatever Fedor was about to say.

"I just can't believe that it was the two of you who stood up to the Bruser brothers and kicked the shit out of them! " A broad smile crossed his face. "I wish I had been there to see it! It must have been magnificent!"

More statements were taken. We had both acted in self-defense. Fedor suggested we not press assault charges against the Brusers. If we did, they would probably file counter-charges against us and we could easily end up in court. As it was, they both seemed content to crawl into a hole and say nothing since they, the two 'toughest kids on the Island' had been soundly trounced by a couple of wimps from the mainland. Fedor had enough on them from the other witnesses that he could bring them up charges without our involvement.

We agreed not to press charges.

For the rest of the time that summer, I had to avoid girls who were hitting on me: girls who had seen me take down Brad Bruser and wanted some of me for themselves. 


	3. The Picnic

**The next summer, I was nineteen, she was eighteen. I had just graduated from high school, and Miley was entering her senior year.**

The summer was passing uneventfully when Miley suggested we go on a picnic. It seems she had found "the perfect spot for a picnic" so the date was set.

When I picked her up, I was a little surprised by the way she was dressed. It's not that she was wearing anything that was unusual for a picnic. But what she was wearing was unusual for her. She had on shorts and a sleeveless blouse that was tied in a knot just below her bust, leaving her with a bare midriff. I drove to the spot she had found, and it _**was**_** an impressively beautiful location! There was a gorgeous waterfall with a small pond around its base. The place was somewhat secluded with trees and bushes blocking the road.**

Together, we had prepared a good picnic lunch, which we enjoyed heartily. Of course, swimming together was out of the question since we had this unspoken ban on wearing swimsuits when in each other's company. But after lunch was completed, Miley brought out a deck of cards.

She sat on the blanket, leaning back against a tree absently shuffling the cards. She kept her eyes on me as I relaxed, enjoying the warmth and the sound of falling water.

Suddenly she asked, "Do you love me?"

I was jarred back into the present century.

"Well sure! What brought that on?"

"We've known each other for nine years," She said. "Next year, you're going to be going to college. You'll meet new people there, new girls. You and I, we've done a lot of things together. Our families get along well, and I've shared secrets with you that I wouldn't tell my best girlfriend back home." She paused and smiled. "Together, we even beat up the Bruser brothers!" We both smiled at this one. "But do you love me? I mean really _**love**_** me?"**

I stared at her for a long time. It wasn't very often that we got into a conversation this deep. And almost never did this kind of conversation just start out of nowhere. But I had been thinking about her and about love ever since we both arrived in Hawaii this summer. We had been practically brother and sister for these past nine years. I would greet her with a hug, and we gave each other brotherly/sisterly kisses. But this year, my thoughts had taken me beyond that kind of relationship. Did I dare say what I had been thinking? Even though we had a history of brutal honesty between us about almost everything, I was nervous. But she was asking!

"Total, honest, brutal truth?" I asked. It was our way of promising each other that we would be completely honest and forthright with each other, pulling no punches, letting it all hang out. It also was a promise that we wouldn't get mad at the other person for what he said, because that would keep this kind of honesty from happening again.

Miley nodded. "Total, honest, brutal truth!" She was agreeing to the terms of our understanding.

"Yes, I love you!" I began. "But our relation has been and still is essentially a brother-sister relationship. And I'm starting to think that I love you more than a sister.

****

"In the fall, I'll be going to college. Next year, so will you. And yes! We will meet other people. We may even fall in love with other people . . ." I saw a flash of disappointment cross her face. I continued. "And that's the way it should be! But . . ." This was truly a 'moment of truth' for me. "But . . ." (Total, honest, brutal truth flashed through my mind. I had to continue.) "But, when we've both finished college, if neither of us had fallen in love and gotten married, and if I feel about you then the way I feel now . . ." I could see that she was holding her breath waiting for the end of the sentence. ". . . if I feel the same then as I do now, I expect I will date you, not as a brother, but . . . but as a man who will want you to be his wife."

Miley released her breath and her shoulders softened. She came over to me and put her arms around my neck and gave me a deeper kiss than I expected. She spoke with a smile. "I'll say the same thing without so many words. I love you, too! And for the sake of the record, I think you're a great prospective husband." We kissed again. We had never kissed like that before. It wasn't a French kiss by any means, but it really began stirring feelings in me that were more than I felt I could really handle.

We leaned against a tree, gazing at the waterfall, my arm draped over her shoulder and spoke about insignificant things for a while. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision as she moved away from me and picked up the cards, straightening the blanket that we were sitting on.

Since she had the cards, as dealer she named the game.

She wanted to play poker: five-card draw, playing only the five cards you draw, one hand at a time. That way your wins or losses would be the luck of the draw, no bluffing. No betting except the ante.

I was confused. There were no chips, not even matchsticks. There wouldn't be any real game if we just played without stakes of any kind. Would we keep score on a piece of paper? I offered to see if I could find some paper in the car so we could keep score, but she refused, shuffling the cards.

We had both been trained to read body language in a poker game. The thought occurred to me that perhaps the game had already begun. I cut the cards, and studied the girl sitting across the blanket from me. There was tension in her body, fear in her eyes but determination also. I knew she was playing with me. But there was something else in her eyes. Resolve? Conviction, to be sure! Desire?

Slowly, an idea dawned on me. It was an idea that seemed so ridiculous that I was tempted to dismiss it. Still, she was dressed in a way that for her was very unusual when we were together.

"You don't want to play for . . . money . . . do you?" I asked.

She smiled a sly smile and shook her head. "I didn't bring any."

I doubted that since she always had some 'mad money' hidden on her whenever she went out, but I let it pass. And I decided to join in the verbal play that seemed to be developing. I watched as she prepared to deal, acutely aware that she was reading my body language as well and she recognized the nervousness that was rapidly passing over me.

"If you don't have money, what could you offer if you lost the hand?"

She was pleased that I was finally getting the idea. "Uuuuummmmm, I dunno. I guess we could find something . . . "


	4. The Cardgame

**I looked at the cards in her hand. "Do you have anything of value to bet?" I asked.**

"Not yet," she answered. "But I may have something valuable later on."

I hesitated, and falteringly spoke. "Then let's bet for something that is worthless, something that has no value at all." I looked at her and she was watching me intently, waiting for my offer.

"I'll bet . . . my . . ." it was hard to get the words out. If it had been anyone else sitting across from me, the words probably never would have passed my lips. But it was Miley sitting across the blanket. I cleared my throat. "I'll bet my . . . shirt . . . against your . . . . blouse . . ."

I heard a quick intake of breath, and I was afraid to look up at her eyes. Would she slap me? Would she get back in the car and drive home. Would she tell me how rude and uncouth I was to even suggest such a thing? Would she burst into tears at the very suggestion coming from someone who she thought was her friend? I held my breath, afraid to move, afraid to look up.

With my peripheral vision, I saw her trembling hand begin to deal the cards. And I heard her say, "It's a bet!"

Still afraid to look at her, I turned my cards over. My hand was a bust, nothing. She had a pair of deuces. She had won.

I stole a glance at her. She was sitting on her knees with a smug look on her face waiting for me to pay my bet. Noticing my hesitation, she said: "Take it off! A bet's a bet!" It was no big deal, so I shrugged off the shirt. I still had a tee shirt on.

Satisfied, Miles allowed her gaze to linger on my shoulders and the muscles in my arms. She picked up the cards and handed them to me as she placed the next bet. "I bet my blouse against your tee-shirt. The stakes were higher, but not by much. I had a pair of jacks, she had two pair. She had won again. I was disappointed, but a glance at her showed her waiting expectantly. I pulled off my tee shirt and again I heard an intake of breath from her.

"You have hair on your chest!" she exclaimed. And I realized she hadn't seen me bare-chested since I was fifteen.

"Can I feel the hair on your chest?" she asked, almost the way an innocent child will ask a simple question. I nodded, and she moved close to me and tentatively reached out her hand.

"It's so course," she exclaimed, experiencing the texture of the hair. Then she raised her hand and ran her fingers through the hair on my head. ". . . not soft and silky like it is here!" Then suddenly she was embarrassed withdrawing her hand and returning to her place across the blanket. She picked up the cards, shuffled and dealt, beginning to get nervous.

"I bet my shoes and stockings against your blouse." She nodded turning the cards over, we both had two kings.

"How do we handle this?" I asked. "Is your Spade higher than my heart? Or do we call it a draw?"

"I don't think it's a draw," she responded. "I think we both lost." And her hands moved to where her blouse was tied, opening the knot. Then a couple of buttons and a shrug of her **shoulders and there she was, wearing only her bra. I was staring again, and after a moment, she cleared her throat and pointed to my shoes. My gaze on her bra-covered chest must have been so intense that I have no recollection of removing my shoes and socks.**

I think she pretended not to notice my gawking at her chest. Handing me the cards, I shuffled. It took enormous effort on my part to come back to reality enough to hear her say, "My bra against your pants." How much further would this go, I wondered, and I dealt the next hand.

I forced my eyes to see her cards. She had two pair. I turned my cards over. I held four queens.

In awe, I looked at her. Would she do it? Yes, she would. Her bra had a front clasp, and she effortlessly opened it and peeled it off, and we were both sitting across from each other bare-chested.

Her breasts were not what I expected. When she wore a bra and sweater, they were these perfectly proportioned, well-shaped mounds with just the hint of a nipple showing through sometimes. Without the bra, her breasts took on a different shape, narrower where they met her body but seeming to protrude further, elongated, maybe? They were certainly NOT cone shaped. Her nipples were situated exactly at the end of her breasts pointing directly at me. If course, I was not an expert in breasts, by any means. I had seen some pictures in a few 'girlie' magazines, and gotten a glimpse or two when a girl's blouse had gapped open or when a carelessly unbuttoned top had flopped open. And then there was the time I was walking home and a woman had left her shades open.

I was staring and she began to squirm and looked down at her bare breasts, unconsciously lifting a hand to cover them. As if by way of apology, she stammered, "they're not shaped the same as most girls. I think they'll fill out more in time." Keeping herself covered, she looked up at me fearfully. "Are they okay?"

I remembered an Internet story about a girl who was self conscious about her breasts. It had said that _**every woman in the **_**world is self conscious about something, wishing she had a little more here, a little less there . . . The writer had said that the greatest gift a man can give a virgin partner is to totally accept her as she is.**

"I think you have the most beautiful breasts I had ever seen!" I whispered. I reached out and took her hand, drawing it downward and uncovering her breasts again exposing it to my view.

She took a quick glance at them and began, "But they're narrow, and . . ."

"They're beautiful! They're beautiful just the way they are!" I interrupted. I could see the weight and concern drain from her as she accepted my words.

It was totally awesome sitting across from Miley. I noticed she had some peach fuzz on her breastbone.

"You ran your hand through the hair on my chest. Will you return the favor?"

"But I don't have any . . ." she looked down and saw the few strands of almost invisible silky hair on her chest and blushed deeply. Then with fear in her eyes, she looked up at me. "Oh . . ." She hesitated. "I . . . well . . . fair is fair. Yes, I guess you can," she stammered.  
**  
Now it was my turn to scoot across the blanket to her side. She knelt looking straight ahead as I raised my hand to her neck and slowly slid my fingers downward between her breasts, barely touching the hair that was so fine it couldn't even be felt. I didn't even graze her breasts, but still I could feel the shiver run through her as my fingers ran down her sternum. Within moments, she began to tremble and she grasped my hand in hers. She was breathing shallowly.**

"It's my turn to deal!"

I returned to my side of the blanket and she dealt. I won the next two hands winning her shoes, and her shorts. She won my pants and I hesitatingly shuffled the cards that would determine who would lose his or her underpants. As I shuffled, her eyes remained locked on the bulge in my boxers as if she were mesmerized. I dealt, and I had two pair while she had a single pair. Again, she blushed, but with only minimal hesitation, she rose on her knees and slid her panties down her thighs. Then, rocking back on her bottom, she raised her legs and slipped her panties off of her feet. Then she returned to her kneeling position, her hands on her thighs, eyes downcast, quite frankly displaying herself to me. Her nudity had generated the obvious response in me, and any attempt to hide what felt like a massive bulge in my boxers would have been a gross exercise in futility.

I couldn't help but admire the beauty and perfection before me. Her neat, triangular bush, her slightly elongated breasts and her beautiful nipples . . . it was hard to get beyond the basics. She took a deep breath and picked up the cards. "My deal."

"How can we continue? You don't have any more clothes to bet," I asked.

"You wouldn't deprive me of the opportunity to get you naked, would you?" she asked.

How can one answer a question like that? "No, but . . ." I floundered.

"If I win, you take off your pants," she began. Then in almost a whisper, still with downcast eyes, she continued. "If you win, you get to play with my titties."

It was an offer I couldn't refuse. Her hands were trembling she dealt the cards. Both of us were hesitant to turn over our cards. Finally, she flipped her cards into view. She had a pair of fours. I had a pair of deuces. My trembling fingers moved to the waistband of my boxers and pushed them downward. I knelt to the side and slipped them off.

She was still staring at my painful erection, now in plain view. Somehow, the embarrassment of the situation made it wilt, and she watched with fascination as it shrank, despite my every thought and fantasy trying to keep it up.

We sat there for a long time, both afraid to move, both afraid to say anything, but neither willing to take our eyes off of the other.

Finally, she picked up the cards, but didn't shuffle them.

"What now?" I asked, my voice coming out in a croak. I was also aware that my erection was starting to return.

"How about the loser has to do whatever the winner asks?" she suggested.  
**  
I reached out and took her hand, capturing both her hand and the cards. We both knew it was time for the game to end.**

"Do we need the cards for that?" I asked.


	5. The Card Game Ends

**She was trembling again and her eyes met mine. She shook her head and put the cards aside. Then lying down on the blanket, she pulled me to her until I was above her, and we kissed. "Not if you promise to make love to me."**

"You really want to have sex with me?" I asked, still a little unsure of her.

"No!" she answered, a cloud passing over her face. "I don't want to have sex with you! I want the two of us to _make love_!" Her insistence on the word _love _touched me deeper than I could imagine.

I held her close and kissed her deeply. Finally I had to pull back. "I can't. I . . . . I . . . don't have . . . protection."

Miley smiled at me. It was a hundred watt smile, and she put her arms around my neck and pulled me to her into another deep kiss. Feeling her naked breasts pressed against my chest encouraged my erection to become so hard, it felt like it was going to burst. Finally, I had to pull away again. I started to repeat myself. "Miley, you have no idea what you're doing to me! I really want you, but I don't . . ." Miley put a finger over my lips, quieting me. Without a word, she looked to the side, found her shorts and extracted a small, square box from her pocket. Gently, she pressed the box into my hand.

"Yes, you do," she whispered. And that was the end of the discussion.

I stared at the box, dumbfounded. Not sure what to do next. She observed my vacillation and hesitatingly asked, "Do _YOU_ want to make love _with me?_"

I broke out of my reverie. "More than anything in the world!" I exclaimed, and kissed her again. The feeling of her breast pressed against my chest was overpowering. I looked down at her breasts swelling and contracting with every breath she took.

"May I touch them . . .?" She nodded, and my hand covered her breast and gradually enfolded itself around that magnificent attribute. I looked up again. " . . . And kiss them!"

"Of course!" she responded. "Will you think I'm too forward if I touch you, too?" she asked.

"Noooooo!" I responded. "I've fantasized about this for years. I just never thought it would really happen." I gently squeezed her breast, catching her nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

"Mmmmmmm, that's nice," she murmured and her soft hand began to caress my chest, feeling my muscles. She tried to run her fingers through the hair on my chest, and laughed joyfully. "Your hairy chest is soooooooo sexy, I can't believe it!" Her eyes met mine. "It's a real turn-on for me!"

I bent down to kiss her nipple and heard her gasp. She gave a sharp intake of breath when I took that bud into my mouth and began sucking gently, and her hand went to the back of my head, pulling me to her bosom.

I continued sucking, eventually drawing almost her entire breast into my mouth, and receiving an approving moan from her as I did. I'm not sure what I expected. Milk? Some other kind of fluid? None of these were there, but there was an incredible satisfaction from the simple act of sucking on her. And her moans and whimpers made it obvious that she was pleased, too.

I came up for a breath of air and looked up at her. She was watching me as I suckled on her. I smiled at her. "If your breasts were a different shape, I wouldn't be able to get as much of them into my mouth." She was surprised by my frankness. ". . . And that would be a pity!" A big smile grew on her face and her hand moved from my head to support her own breast, lifting it toward my lips. I accepted her invitation and returned to nursing on her.

But after a while, I have no idea how long, she moved her hand downward to my hips. Gently she started to work her hand around in front of me. I released her nipple and we looked into each other's eyes. She hesitated as we made eye contact.

"May I?" she whispered, nervously, as if she were afraid I would refuse. I nodded and rolled a little to the side to make it easier to reach her target.

Very tentatively, even timidly, she touched me. And I let my hand slip down to touch, and cup her mound. But I didn't pursue my explorations. This was her moment. Our eyes dropped and we both watched as her fingertips slipped over me, exploring each inch of me. It didn't take training in body language for us to read each other! Eventually, her velvety soft fingers wrapped around me. "You're so big!" she whispered. "Will it work with us?"

I nodded with a confidence that I didn't really feel. I knew from the locker room that I wasn't as large as some boys, although I certainly wasn't small either. But at that moment, quite frankly, even if I was too big for her, I didn't want to stop.

"I know it will hurt the first time," she whispered to me. "But it will be all right, because it's you. It'll be okay if you hurt me. But please be gentle with me . . . I'm still a virgin"

I wasn't surprised she was a virgin. After all I had grown up with her and I probably knew most of her real secrets. But one admission requires another.

"I hope I'll be all right," I confided. "I'm a virgin, too!" Her hundred-watt smile became a thousand watt smile.

"I know," she confided. "Thank you for telling me. I'm so happy it will be the first time for both of us!"

She took a deep breath. "And now . . .", she hesitated, ". . . it's time . . .!"

I had fantasized about this moment for years. I had secretively read library books, hoping to learn what I would need to know when this moment arrived. Somehow, the books never really tell the whole story. I'd even read porn stories on the Internet hoping to gain understanding. Surprisingly, I felt that there only seem to be a _few_ writers on the net that really tell it like it is.

She kissed me sweetly, then pushed me on my back and applied the condom. Then she lay back down and she pulled me on top of her, never releasing her grip on me, and spread her thighs to give me ample room between them. She continued guiding my movements until we both felt me make contact with her labia major and gently begin to move between them.

I paused. Even though I was a virgin and a teenager and horny as hell at that moment, the 'politically correct' indoctrination was still in my mind. "Miley, I want you. I love you. But are you sure you want me to continue? Have you really thought this through?"

"I've planned this day for so long," she said. "I've dreamt about it and fantasized about it so much, that there's no way I'm going to let you stop now!" She said, firmly. But she was still afraid to be the aggressor. She put her arms around my shoulders and drew my face so close to hers I couldn't focus. "Please, don't keep me waiting any longer!"

I didn't. Tentatively, I moved into her feeling my crown separate her lips, then move between them. She was moist, and offered no resistance. Her lips tightened as I realized I was firmly 'on target'. Not sure how to proceed, I remembered reading in a book once that sometimes it's easier on the girl to give one quick thrust and quickly break through her virginity, so that's what I did. She gave a cry and everything about her tightened around me. I was afraid I'd hurt her and tried to pull out, but she anticipated my action and clutched me with both her arms and legs to prevent my retreat.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"More!" she said, pulling me into her. I tried to press into her, but it didn't work. But I found that if I backed off an inch before pressing in, I picked up her natural lubrication, which eased my way. She grunted with each thrust, but she wouldn't let me stop either.

I felt my pelvis pressing against hers. And our pubic hair meshed. And my testicles came to rest against her bottom. She gripped me and held me tightly. It didn't feel like I was too big for her, rather it felt like I fit inside her like she was a perfectly fitting, living glove that spasmed, alternately clutching me and releasing me.

"Are you all right? Did I hurt you?" I asked again.

I felt her relax beneath me, and her thousand-watt smile became a million dollar smile. "I'm perfect!" she cooed. "And before you ask again, the answer is NO! I do NOT want you to stop!" She closed her eyes and nuzzled my face the way a cat does and murmured, "You got my hymen, now let's find out what the rest of it is all about!" Then she took my ear lobe between her teeth and sucked on it for a moment. _"I've given you my heart. And my maidenhead. No let me give you the rest of me!"_ "Make a woman of me!" she purred.

I withdrew and drove into her again, and she gave a moan of approval.

Feeling her moist warmth around me had me so irrationally hot, and I started shoving in and out vigorously. She groaned in time with each thrust, but gasped out, "Oh, that's nice! But slow down a bit so I can catch up!" And barely audibly, she added, "Please!"

I paused, pressed as deep into her as I could, and again I remembered an Internet story where the woman told her partner, "Girls cum too if the boy gives them time and doesn't do it without her."

Miley hugged me tight and whispered. "Slow down, just a little, so you don't cum before I do."

I felt stupid and self-conscious. Aren't boys supposed to be in charge? My hormones wanted to ignore everything she was saying. But still, that Internet story . . .

So I slowed down, doing my best to control my eagerness. I slowly pressed into her as far as I could go and I felt her shudder and pull me closer to her! She was holding me so tight, I wasn't sure I could move, but my hips were still working. Remembering another story, I began very gentle thrusting into her, and felt her relax beneath me. I could feel her response as she relaxed, so I began concentrating on every movement and sound she made, observing her every reaction. 

**I concentrated on the things that caused her to react, even to the point of attempting to repress my own impulses.**

"Oh, that's nice!" she moaned and ground her hips into mine, meeting me thrust for thrust. Gradually, I became aware of a heady, musky scent generating from us, which only turned me on all the more. Trying to move my body upward in relationship to hers, I slid my knees under her thighs, raising her knees and found to my surprise that this opened her wider to me, allowing me deeper access into her. Her moans of approval told me that my accidental movement had been extremely successful.

Her hips rose to meet my thrusts and she sighed deeply as our hips thrust together. Her ankles locked behind me, effectively pulling her into me, meeting each thrust, synchronizing our movements.

Miley's eyes were closed, but she seemed to have an angelic smile of contentment on her face as we mated. Beads of perspiration were forming on her forehead and her upper lip. And somehow I recognized that everything was pointing out to me that she was really into it: she was thrusting to meet me; she was becoming even more lubricated and wet as we proceeded. I glanced down between us, and saw that her nipples were more erect than I had ever seen before. She was grunting in time with our thrusts and her pelvis was speeding up. She started grunting my name.

". . . Uhhh . . . uhhh . . . I think I'm getting close . . . " she gasped between grunts. "Are you close?"

Unconsciously, I sped up and began thrusting deeper into her, groaning back, "Uh-huh . . . I'm almost there!"

She squinted her eyes. "Okay . . . . Uhhh . . . Now! Together! . . . More! . . . More . . . More . . ." Her movements were becoming erratic and less coordinated, more instinctual, demanding even more from me.

I was pounding as hard as I could! I had nothing more to give, but I tried!

"More! . . . More . . . " Her hips were pounding against mine with even greater intensity. Her vagina was spasming erratically as she grunted and finally screamed my name as her muscles clamped down on me with intense strength, driving me over the edge. I thrust with each spasm as I poured my seed into her and she clutched me and cried out with each thrust.

Locked in each other's arms, we both struggled to extend our orgasms, both of us gasping erratically. And, inevitably, each of us completed our climaxes. And our panting began to slow down and we collapsed in each other's arms.

We lay like that for a long time, me cushioned on her breasts, still within her, but feeling myself shrinking. I knew from one of the books I had read, that I had to withdraw and be sure to take the condom with me before I got too soft, or leakage might occur. So I took one finger and pressed the base of the condom against my penis and withdrew. She moaned slightly as I left her, and I felt awkward, lying on top of her like that, so I rolled to the side.

Both of our eyes dropped and gazed at my almost flaccid manhood. I think we both realized at the same time that there were traces of blood on the condom. Our eyes met and we kissed again, more gently this time. 


	6. Life Goes On

**Nick's POV:**

**We made love twice more that afternoon. When the third (and last) condom was used, we both were tempted to do it again without protection, but somehow good sense prevailed over hormones!**

I think both of us wanted to run hope and announce to our parents that we were going to be married right then and there. But we both had the practical sensibility to know that we each had college ahead of us. And we knew we wouldn't be going to the same school. But eventually, someday, we would both graduate! In the mean time, we had the rest of the summer together! And we would be together in Hawaii for a month next summer.

There was not a whole lot that we could do to control the next several years, so reluctantly we both accepted our fate.

But we decided together that there was definitely one thing that we _could_ control! And we resolved together that neither of us would ever buy a package with only three condoms in it again! 

**BAAAD ...xD**

**so yah..hope u guys enjoyed it!**

**Please Review;)**


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